


The Right Frame Of Mind

by tjstar



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Drug Addiction, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, Murder Mystery, No Incest, Pre-Canon, Sharing Clothes, Sibling Bonding, Sickness, Smoking, Torture, Violence, Withdrawal, but he's got klaus so it makes everything easier, diego and eudora are kinda roommates, diego wants to be a detective but his methods of work are illegal, not exactly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-31 17:25:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18595981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: Klaus hasn’t spoken to the dead since he left the Academy. He’s been stuck in a swamp of drugs and alcohol for years, but now Diego is here to rescue him, to give him a shelter, and —And ask him to conjure a victim of a murder.HELLO, sobriety, Klaus wants this to be over already.





	The Right Frame Of Mind

“Where’s the cash?”

The interrogation reaches the apogee. The water splashes onto Klaus’ sweaty face, running down in salty streams. They waterboard him without warning, again; he gurgles and hacks his lungs up, leaning forward as much as the cobweb of the ropes lets him, he’s just a poorly restrained puppet driven by his bliss. This is the third time they’ve accidentally knocked him out tonight, but Klaus is surely dumb enough to come to after a few “emergency procedures” each time. Four thugs in front of him are diligent jawbreakers; well, technically there’s just two of them, but his doubled vision makes him a little overdramatic. Especially when the dude on his left squeezes a metal rod in his hands. Blood flows out of Klaus’ nose, dripping onto his lap.

A hit in the sternum is like a gulp of fresh air. More holes for better ventilation, right?

“Remembered anything now?”

The man frowns to the point his face looks like a crumpled piece of toilet paper. Klaus’ imagination throws in these weird metaphors all the time, making him giggle all the time and pissing off his captors even more. The rod is still cold after all of the times they’ve hit him before.

“Where’s the cash?”

“Where-is-the-cash,” Klaus mimics his low voice. “The more you repeat this question the less I like it. For reasons.”

Another blow, another wave of icy cold water spilled out of the plastic bucket. It soothes the pain, it makes his jelly-like brain freeze into a sharp-edged mess in his skull. Not good, this is certainly not good. Klaus shakes his head, sending drops of blood flying in different directions; the man in front of him wipes his hands on a white bloodied towel.

“How neat,” Klaus comments.

He’s making calculations mentally, it’s been four, five, six hours? Not enough for the ghosts of reality to emerge. And Klaus might as well get murdered straight away — it won’t change anything. The absurdity of the situation is hilarious, this smelly basement with the water dribbling from the ceiling is not the most appropriate place for having a sweet heart-to-heart talk. Klaus is grateful to the leftover _magic_ of the pills he’s popped; it makes his stomach contract from time to time as the aftermath. He’d have one more witness over here if he was sober — it won’t be long until he gets there. It always starts with the irksome buzzing in the back of his head, muffled as if he’s floating underwater. Then come the voices, soft murmurs gradually grow to blood-curdling screams of the phantoms that beg Klaus for help like jumpscares imprinted into his eyelids.

“Listen to me, asshole,” a hand yanks at his hair. This is refreshing, too, a pang of pain is the only thing that keeps him grounded now. “How many times I’ve reminded you of your debts?”     

“That’s just who I am, I’m never learnin’ the lessons, Greg,” Klaus slurs, his courage is gone. “Why isn’t Danny talkin’?”

Klaus jerks his head towards the man.

A rod slams into his ribs.

“Got it.”

He lurches forward once again, making himself smaller as if this can help him relieve the pain. He’s not sure whether his rib has just gotten fractured or it’s just a static noise flooding his ears. He moans, he sways in this damn chair back and forth until there’s another trickle of water running down his aching back. They better finish it before he starts begging for mercy and giving promises.

“Your therapy group sucks,” Klaus hisses out, to his knees mostly since the pain settled in his innards doesn’t let him move. “Why can’t you guys be professionals for once.”

His words may not reach their ears, but their fists reach his body as ricochet.  

“Not even your rich daddy’s gonna save you.”

“Yeah,” Klaus forces himself to raise his head. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s too busy playing Power Rangers with my brother.”

This is the first time Danny speaks.

“Where’s your brother?”

“He’s…” Klaus licks his copper-tasting lips. “He’s on the Moon I believe? Watching our lovely planet, or like, mostly, he’s just staring us down like a pompous prick…”

 _Swat_.

He accidentally bites the skin on Danny’s knuckles, scraping it, the only harm he can cause while getting backhanded. There are invisible needles prickling his forearms and his bare shoulders; he’s about to show his HELLO palm to a withdrawal then quickly flip it off not to let the sobriety cleave his armor.

“Shut the fuck up,” Greg seems disappointed, but not too disappointed for Klaus’ liking so he’s going to fix it. “Bullshit.”

Klaus grins regardless of the scabs in the corner of his mouth.

“Also you calling good old Reggie _daddy_ would work out even though he’s never been into that kind of stuff —”

He shuts up then, because who wouldn’t, with the lead-weighting fist slammed into their face like a comet. This is not the first time he’s gotten into a fight on the brink of getting gutted. Well, if you can consider a classic “a tied down outnumbered junkie who’s not even worth getting beaten” cliche a proper fight.

“I give you three days or I swear I’m gonna own your little ass,” Greg barks, spilling the rest of the water onto Klaus’ head.

“Or are you just runnin’ out of the fluids?”

Klaus screws his eyes shut and grits his teeth, waiting for a punch to come, but he only hears a pained shriek instead. His eyes snap open, still unfocused, but the figure dressed in a black catsuit seems to be fairly familiar.

“Diego?”

“Fucker!”

“Oh,” Klaus exhales as Greg clutches the wound in his upper thigh. “This knife in your leg suits you.”

Danny’s writhing on the moldy floor with the blood pooling out of his abdomen, roaring as Diego’s heavy boot stomps onto his chest. Diego winces in disgust, and Klaus feels queasy at the thought that he might behold a murder right now; he closes his eyes, ignoring a brief shadow in the periphery. He coughs when Diego cuts the ropes and touches his right side that’s just a bag of pain now.

“Come on, move, move,” Diego grabs Klaus under the armpits as he stumbles over his own fatigue. “Move while they’re… Busy.”

His bones creak as Diego drags him upstairs, and upstairs, and upstairs, every step is like a rewind option. It’s such a relief to finally get outside, and the grid-framed door slams shut behind their backs. This is a chilly evening, the water dries on Klaus’ skin and in his greasy curls as he touches them. Klaus doesn’t mind that Diego helps him stand upright; he just tips his head back, breathing heavily. It hurts, and his pants’ pockets are full of well-hidden tricks. They have taken his coat though, he’s obviously not getting it back anytime soon. He’s only got three days.

The lighter spits out a meager fire, just enough to bring the joint back to life. One drag and his silent stalker gets sucked back to the world where he belongs.  

Diego smacks the back of Klaus’ head.

“Idiot.”

“Hey, I was about to bite my tongue!” Klaus laughs at their awkwardness.

Blood tastes funny when it’s mixed with his gastric acid he’s struggling to push back down. Klaus walks away, well, he thinks he does so, but Diego’s hand on his collar drags him back to a brick wall.

“Hope this wasn’t like, a roleplay.”

“Huh. No. Not this time.”

“Just had to clarify.”

“You’re the one who’s wearing leather, Diego.”

Klaus throws his arms over his head to protect it from another smack, but Diego just sighs and leads him to the car parked next to a strip-bar down the street. This is like a continuation of his kidnapping even though Klaus still can’t remember how he ended up getting the shit beaten out of him in that basement. Klaus’ adoptive father would have never paid anyone to set him free, and not even the tattoo of the umbrella in the circle can shield him.

The sound of the engine lulls him to sleep, the seat belt hurts his torso, and he’s nauseous as Diego’s giving him a typical lecture about “my body is my temple.” Klaus’ body is a temple in ruins, there’s nothing to reconstruct anymore.

But he’s got a couch to crash on.

 

***

When Klaus wakes up, Ben is already here, staring at his half-naked and bruised body and this is just. Not right.

“Get lost,” Klaus mutters and presses his face into the pillow.

He remembers Diego’s last words before he got rid of his soaked pants and passed out atop of the covers — “don’t pass out,” this is what Diego said.

“Should’ve said a good morning,” Ben hums.

“Great,” Klaus sits up. “You’re not shutting up, great. Where’s that damn stash,” he needs a hit, a drag, anything. Anything that would wipe this pitying grimace off Ben’s face.

He’s about to roll off the couch with the blanket tangled over his legs when he realizes that he’s not the only one who’s having a family dispute; there are the voices coming from the hallway, arguing with the anger gradually leveling up. Klaus’ ears are still all clogged, and his insides feel like a slushie in a screwed up cup. But this doesn’t save him from comprehending that he is the subject of discussion.

“... just my brother. I’m not lying, Eudora…”

“Why is your brother homeless then?”

This is a low blow.

“Ouch,” Klaus winces from both the girl’s answer and his headache.

“It’s getting awkward, isn’t it?”

Klaus throws the blanket over his lap and blows Ben a kiss.

“When hasn’t it been?”

He’s not sober enough to see a troop of the ghosts chasing him. Instead, Diego enters the room with the best of his crawl-like gaits. There’s also the girl he’s been talking to, concerned and a bit pissed. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her back is as straight as a rod. The thought about the _rods_ pushes Klaus to the brink of passing out again, but he manages to pull himself together.

His HELLO tattoo is always a lifesaver when he’s not in the _mood_ for talking.

Diego adjusts his leather harness.

“Oh, Klaus is awake.”

“Bold of you to assume,” Ben adds with the roll of his eyes.

This is really getting on his nerves.

“I just want to impress her so she won’t kick me out _like that,_ why don’t you understand?” Klaus spits out, he gesticulates, he chokes. “Stop distracting me.”

Eudora narrows her eyes while Diego lacks his usual sassiness. Klaus hates all the kinds of the “mornings after” he’s ever had because all of them were embarrassing as hell.

“She thinks you’re gonna rob their apartment,” Ben scowls. “Your behavior is indeed impressive. But not trustworthy.”

“Shut up, Ben,” Klaus glares at him over his shoulder then turning to Eudora with this friendliest smile. “I am sorry for being a bother,” he can’t handle it, oversharing everything with Ben once again. “That’s not working I suppose.”

This doesn’t stay unnoticed.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s just talking to… To our deceased brother. This is fine.”

Diego’s not making things any better. And well, if this is the part where Klaus is gonna deal with this shit on his own now, he’s going to find his pants first.

“Sometimes I even stop wondering why you’ve gotten expelled from the police academy,” Eudora grumbles.

“No shit, detective Patch.”

“Oh, don’t blame him, he just hates academies, a childhood trauma, yeah,” Klaus gibbers out.

Diego rolls his eyes.

“Don’t make me regret I saved your stoner ass earlier.”

“I’m done, I’m leaving,” Klaus holds the blanket up around his waist and gets up.

“Sit down!”

Diego and Eudora’s synchronicity sweeps him off his feet. Klaus flops back down onto the couch, expecting to _finally_ get kicked out, but Eudora just touches his busted cheekbone, makes him duck his head and inspects his injuries. The light streaming from the window is so bright it pierces his brain like a laser.

The “get the hell out of here” part never happens. Eudora sighs.

“Gotta clean up his wounds first.”

Klaus stifles a whine when she palpates his bumpy ribs.

“Better than the rehab, yeah?” Ben chimes in again.

Klaus throws his forearm over his eyes and ignores the ringing in his ears.

 

***  

_“...Hollywood star Allison Hargreeves announces her pregnancy. She and her husband...”_

Diego switches the channel to a wild nature documentary. Hunting, hunting, killing for a short rush of pleasure.

Klaus puts his feet onto a glass table.

“Sis is all over the news. She’s got nice clothes, by the way,” he shoves Diego with his bony elbow and chuckles. “Look, some of us are living their lives the way they want,” he scoffs as Diego remains silent. “Nothing’s changing though. Luther’s still defying gravity, Five’s still gone, Ben’s still dead but annoying as fuck and Vanya’s still ordinary. We’re still the dopest bros in this team. Miss our Mom though.”

Klaus is philosophic and tranquil; mostly because of the pills he consumed while no one was watching. But he prefers to call it a composure.

Diego turns the TV off.

“I need your help now.”

“O-oh, should’ve died in that basement,” Klaus smiles sourly. His _composure_ dissipates, but the drug-effect keeps him protected from himself. “Of course. Sure, amigo. No one’s saving my life for just being their brother, yeah, got it.”

“Stop this, I need you to sober up,” Diego grabs Klaus by his shoulders and shakes him hard enough for his teeth to clank. “You’re staying here until you’re all clean-minded and detoxed, and don’t even try to sneak out.”

Klaus raises his hand like a white flag.

“Whatever you want, bro, just stop jiggling me.”

Diego lets him go.

Klaus is dozing off, his sleeping schedule is fucked up enough to start suspecting he’s been hallucinating the whole time. But Eudora gave Klaus her black cardigan and an eyeliner to fix his makeup, and all he’s obligated to say to Diego now is “marry her you douchebag, she’s a treasure”.

“Where is your lovely partner in crime?” he asks instead.

“She came to visit her parents after I promised that I’m not gonna cross my paths with the police. You have a week to get to the right frame of mind, got it?”

Diego’s hands are squeezing his shoulders again; Klaus wriggles out of his grasp.

“Can you like. Stop showing your dominance? Ben doesn’t like it.”

Diego smirks.

“You’re not seeing him now.”

“Yes, but he’s always here,” Klaus places his palm over his heart. “Our dear brother Ben who accidentally got consumed by the demonic creatures from another dimension,” he makes a crying noise which mostly sounds scornful.

Ben’s gonna roast him for this later.

“This is important,” Diego cuts Klaus off. “I want you to… conjure someone.”

Klaus lets out a coarse laughter.

“What a bummer, I lost my crystal ball just yesterday!”

This is it, this is the end, he hasn’t done it on purpose for years; the only ghost he’s been talking to was Ben. Sometimes Ben was the only _person_ he was talking to. Ben is a one of a kind certified spirit, he’s always saying right words and rather funny jokes. But _the others_ are just following Klaus step to step, bawling and trying to grab him with their gnarled arms. Lone lost souls are the angriest ones. Fear clouds his head, he is trapped and claustrophobic all of the sudden. A metaphoric switcher is swapped to a “scared nine-year-old alone in a mausoleum” mode again.

“Klaus?”

Klaus blinks and leans back on the couch. The last hit in the head was just too much it worked like an eraser; Klaus rubs his nape.

“What?”

Diego gets up.

“I got something for you.”

Klaus shrugs and stares nowhere while Diego trashes the apartment, fishing all of his things out of the drawers. Once the search is complete, there’s a pair of faux leather lace-up pants.

“Couldn’t find you to present them to you earlier.”

And Klaus says just —

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome, stoner boy.”

“Where did you get them?”

“Lost a bet. They didn’t fit. Nevermind,” Diego tosses them at Klaus. “Suit yourself.”

“We’re talking about some real shit if you’re being...” Klaus keeps up a dramatic pause and presses the pants to his chest. “So nice to me.”

He’s about to pretend he’s crying or he’s about to really cry because the pain keeps striking through his ribs each time he takes a breath. There is the swell on his split lip that spits the blood into his mouth when he smiles.

“I found one of your dealers and asked him very nicely where you can be,” Diego points at the knife on the table. “Had to comb through all the rehabs and shelters, and ended up… there. Not the worst condition you’ve ever been in, right?”

Klaus nods, Ben shakes his head. Good point. HELLO, sobriety.

“Who am I supposed to contact?”

Diego pats his back.

“I’m gonna tell you once you’re ready.”

Klaus will never be ready.

Honesty is everything he’s got.

“I can’t do this,” Klaus flinches. “I’m… I’m scared, yeah.”

“But you’re talking to Ben all the time.”

He needs to apologize in advance because this trick might not work since he’s never learned how to use his seemingly cool powers, and Ben is… just Ben.

 

***

Klaus sleeps through his first day of sobriety so he doesn’t quite remember it.

On his second day he’s itching all over, scraping his skin with his bitten nails and banging his head against the wall until they both break.

“You’re gonna handle this,” Ben says, and Klaus believes him.

On the third day he’s just crawling out of his body. The air is like a too hot and too cold shower, and Klaus is sweating through his pores; he’s about to get seizures as the withdrawal gets violent, he bolts to the bathroom, barely making it. He throws up until his long-suffering nose begins to bleed, he chokes on both blood he’s swallowing and bile he’s spewing out.

“You’re gonna handle this,” Ben says again, and Klaus wishes he could join him in the afterlife already.

“Who’d be that lucky fortuneteller I’d be following when I’m dead?” Klaus giggles pathetically, leaning his forehead against the toilet.

Ben scowls.

“You’re stronger than you think.”

“Oh right, no needs to constantly get tested to prove it,” Klaus wipes his nose on his own crop top and heaves again.

On the fourth day he’s lying on the couch passed out, having nothing to throw up anymore. He vaguely acknowledges Diego checking him and offering water, but unconsciousness is such a heavy weight. Ben’s rambling above his ear all the time, the only thing that reminds him of still being alive.

On the fifth day Klaus says he’s ready.

Mostly, because _the others_ come and it’s driving him insane; Diego’s next door neighbor committed suicide by hanging himself three years ago. He can’t still shove his tongue back into his mouth, his bloated face is emotionless, and the rope around his neck is thick enough to hold his obese body. He keeps repeating that his wife was a dirty whore, and that he didn’t deserve this.

“I am the only one who hears you, please,” Klaus cries out. “Shut the fuck up!”

He still sees that man when Diego barges into the living room, walking right through Ben.

“How are you...” Diego starts.

“...doing?” Klaus finishes for him. “Great, never better, full of energy and relishing my healthy lifestyle,” he takes a deep breath. “Enlighten me, I’m all yours.”

“A murder,” Diego says dryly. “Young girl, eye taken out. Strangled to death.”

“Oh just like that gentleman behind your back,” Klaus blurts out.

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

“Does he only have one eye as well?”

“No, no, he’s got both. Luckily,” Klaus shakes his head and shows the man his GOODBYE, hoping the spirits can read too. “Just let me focus on that one-eyed girl. I’m sure I’m gonna screw it up anyway and you’ll finally kick me out. Alright, what do I have to do to summon you?” he’s talking to himself, pressing his palms to his face.

“Klaus…”

“Stop distracting me, she was about to tell me everything!”

“Really?”

“No. But the guy with the noose on his neck is still there. Wanna hear his story?”   

“Later,” Diego interrupts his babbling. “Speaking of that girl… You better conjure her…”

“Is there any nuance that I won’t like?”

“...at the place where the police found the body.”

“How creative.”

Should have expected this, Klaus tells to himself. And Diego has probably been working on a plan B since he knew that Klaus’ powers tend to betray him every so often; the place might help indeed, it might tell a tale and give him terrifying visions afterwards. The nightmares of Klaus Hargreeves, season two, watch it every night if you’re dumb enough to fall asleep sober.

Ben gives him another sympathetic look.

“Get lost.”

Too good for Klaus that Ben can be a transparent matter. This is a habit, but it doesn’t save him from the voices he starts to hear.

“Should’ve learned how to control this.”

“Awesome,” Klaus applauds. “Best advice ever. What about switching our abilities for a day? Knives, I like them.”

Diego prefers not to respond.

 

***

The warehouse that is also a crime scene is a shithole of the city or a place where Klaus is possibly gonna get tortured next time.

“Here we go,” Klaus mutters as Diego cuts the lock with pliers.

Klaus shivers; withdrawal symptoms are multiplied by fear. The wind is like a cold water, thick and suffocating, and Ben’s presence behind Klaus’ back doesn’t amp up his confidence either. This is it, and the warehouse is empty and silent, smelling of rats and rust.

“Should book this one when I’m looking for a place to sleep next time.”

“Good point.”

Ben is the only one who responds to his witty comments. It’s been going the same way since they were kids.

“Do you see her? Or anyone? Or anything?”

Diego’s enthusiasm might start another nuclear war.

“Yeah,” Klaus nods. “I see Ben. He wants to slap you across the face.”

Ben shakes his head.

“He’s kidding, nevermind.”

It’s getting scarier when the whispers flood the space, rolling all over the surface like dust. The spirits are not making an appearance yet just greeting Klaus with their rustling voices, calling his name. The calmer the worse, they still need energy to pop up. They might start coming all at once, rending him to shreds with their last wishes and their unwritten testaments; the ghosts are usually getting stuck on one phrase like a broken record.

“Do you see something?” Diego asks again.

Klaus balls up his fists.

“Leave me alone.”

“What?”

“They can’t harm me, remember? Thought those were your words.”

“What do you mean?”

“Fucking leave already, Diego!” Klaus punches the wall with his open palm. “Leave, fuck off, go away, you’re not gonna see anything anyway!”

A howl tears its way out of his throat, and Klaus grabs fistfuls of his hair and pulls them until his scalp is on fire. All he needs now is get more chemicals into his system, but he shouldn’t let his flaws overtake him. Klaus falls to his knees with his eyes glued shut, punching the floor with his knuckles until they bleed as he repeats, and repeats, and repeats his pleas.

“Leave, just leave. Leave me alone. Please.”

There is a whirlwind inside of his head, blood rushes too loudly he doesn’t hear the footsteps traveling away from him. When Klaus blinks his eyes open he’s alone there. Ben is a quiet watcher, so this doesn’t count. His siblings are always asking him for things he’s not fully capable of doing. But they’re coming, ringing their ghostly bells; Klaus is sweating and shaking, still on his knees, pressing his palms between his thighs to stop them from trembling. He’s staring down at the dirt when there are small bare feet approaching him. _Small_ feet. Damn Diego, he didn’t warn Klaus that the victim was a kid.

Poor restless soul.

“Talk to her,” Ben says.

“Why wouldn’t you do this yourself?”

Klaus is not the one to snarl, but he can’t lift his head. His heart’s giving up, and Ben’s voice doesn’t alleviate his suffering.

“Talk to her, Klaus, she’s ready.”

“But I’m not,” Klaus straightens his back so swiftly his vision goes black. “Damn,” he staggers back, he crawls away from this hideous spectacle.

There’s a girl, not even a teenager, just a child. And she’s mostly speaking to herself while the blood drips out of her empty socket, leaving red trail on her cheek and gathering to a thick droplet on her chin. She blinks with her single eye, looking through Klaus who’s curled into himself in the corner.

She is like a way too vivid hologram, her voice is dull.

“He said I got beautiful eyes.”

“No,” Klaus buries his face in his hands. “No, no, no!”

This is not what he should be saying to increase his own value, but he didn’t sign for this. The girl is just draining him out like a swimming pool, leaving all the trash scattered across the bottom. Sobriety is overrated. Quitting the deal seems so appealing, but God knows when there’ll be another chance for Klaus to feel useful, not useless.

“Ask her who killed her,” Ben keeps giving instructions. “Look at her, come on, you can do this.”

As if this can cure him from his addictions.

“Who did this to you?” Klaus blurts out. “Hi? Hello? Guten tag?” he waves his hands to attract her attention. “Not working,” he whimpers, turning to Ben.

“I wouldn’t say so,” Ben points his finger to the darkness.

“Oh shit.”

There are more victims, four, five, seven of them united by the same problem, all one-eyed and choked to a permanent slumber. They form a tight circle around Klaus and scrutinize him as if he’s got an alphabet painted on his chest.

Still too far from a decent conversation, but the girl in a blue dress speaks first.

“You’ve got beautiful eyes. He’d have fun with you too.”

“Oh, no, thanks,” the thought that this bastard is still alive creeps Klaus out. “Whoever he is, serial killers are not my type. Definitely, huh.”

“His name was Leonard,” says the girl with thick braids. “He was so sweet in the beginning, but then… Then he said he liked my eyes.”

This tortures Klaus on a physical level; the girl never listens to him, talking either to herself or to the others. They’re still here, too, all young women with eyes and hair of various colors.

“I saw him with my sister,” a little girl says. “He said my eyes were beautiful,” she takes the Blue Dress’ hand.

“Is she… Is she your sister?” Klaus asks.

“Yes, she is,” she replies in a singsong voice.

All of them are only missing their left eyes.

“Please, I need more information, please,” Klaus scrapes the floor in agony. “Last name, address, anything! Anything, please,” he ends up muttering illegibly, powers drained off him.

And his _clients’_ patience breaks. Their stories are mixing, so confused and tangled in their own words; Klaus only hears the chunks of their laments, horrible details he’d never drown in alcohol.

_“...he sedated me and then…”_

_“Took my eye out and tied a wire around my throat.”_

_“Didn’t let me move, my eyes were so beautiful.”_

_“A wolf in sheep’s clothing.”_

_“I didn’t want to die! I didn’t want to die!”_

They’re weeping, faces deformed with anger, they’re talking about themselves and their deaths, but they’re not providing any information about that damn _animal_ who did that to them. He’s about to curb the wave of their confessions, but he can’t still use it for his own purpose.

Time’s running out.

Klaus hits his jaw on the concrete, he doesn’t remember falling this hard, but the taste of blood in his mouth is a the evidence. Spirits surround him once again, taking his powers away and filling him with fatigue instead.

“Focus!”

Oh, he’s done this before.

Ben is a little shit, Klaus smiles weakly before propping himself up with his arms.

“Ladies, who’s gonna behave and tell me more about your _murderer?”_

This is a short moment of bravery that vanishes without a trace as soon as the ghosts outstretch their hands to get him, trying to pull at his clothes and wailing into his face, calling, calling, calling for help.

Klaus is sure he’s gonna leave this warehouse with gray hair.

 

***

He leaves the warehouse chewing a joint and lighting it up before Diego stops him — he might be a pro at doing nice tricks, but he can’t make Klaus stop smoking weed.

“So?” Diego catches Klaus by his elbow as he trips over his own shoes. “How was it?”

Klaus puffs out a smoke ring.

“A tea party.”

“I’m serious,” Diego’s hand snatches Klaus’ collar. “Tell me.”

“Shoud’ve taken a notebook to write this shit down,” Klaus quips. “That fucker’s name is Leonard Peabody, a woodworker living a few blocks away from here. They must’ve said something more but I… You know me.”

“They?”

Klaus nods wordlessly. Enough for Diego to draw conclusions.

Diego maneuvers him to the car; Klaus flounces like a bird in his vice grip.

“We’re going to get this son of a bitch right the fuck now,” he sounds so determined Klaus gags. “Okay, _I’m_ going,” Diego corrects himself. “Get back to the apartment.”

Klaus is about to shake his brother’s hand for understanding.

“Thank you.”

“Are you sure you can get back there safely?”

“I’m with Ben,” Klaus looks around the deserted street. “He just went to take a ghost leak or something.”

“Try not to get killed then.”

Diego is eager to break bones and crack skulls — to save lives or honor the ones who’s passed away. Klaus steps aside politely as the engine roars, and his clothes get splattered with water from the puddle.

“Where are we going?”

“Shit,” Klaus burns his fingers when Ben appears again. “Wanna give me a heart attack?” he breathes out the streams of smoke through his nose. “We’re gonna get wasted, buckle up.”

His inner compass is always tuned up to the neon lights of the city.

 

***

In the morning, Klaus accidentally catches a glimpse of his reflection in the glass table. He looks awful with his lips chapped, stubble unkempt and sweat smeared across his cheeks along with mascara. His hangover head’s too heavy on the pillow, and the TV in the living room is on as if specially for him to watch it. Klaus groans, blinks and peers into the screen.

_“...Leonard Peabody, formerly known as Harold Jenkins, was found dead in his apartment…”_

This makes Klaus jump up on the couch and sober up even more.

“What have you done, bro.”

_“...a knife wound… According to police reports Jenkins spent twelve years in the prison due to killing his father with a hammer…”_

“The world’s not gonna regret this,” Klaus instantly changes his minds. “Burn in hell.”

Ben watches morning news too.

_“...police officers found a collection of glass jars with the eyeballs conserved inside…”_

“Sick fucker.”

The water in the shower is running, there’s Diego’s briefcase for the knives in the corner of the room. The last thing Klaus wants at the moment is talk to him, giving explanations and waiting for Eudora to return. He’s _borrowed_ one of her eyeliners again though, not the best one, so he hopes it’s okay if he won’t bring it back. He’s looking for the keys now, all over the room and next to the door, finding none; Diego has probably taken his set to the shower to block all of Klaus’ ways to go out.

Diego didn’t consider one more option. The fire escape stairs that lead up right to the window.

“We’re not gonna do this,” Ben says.

As if ghosts can be afraid of anything.

“A little adrenaline never hurts,” Klaus flashes him a smile. “See? I’m starting my day with exercising, just like you wanted.”

He’s dizzy, but if he jumps out the second floor he’s gonna land into the dumpster anyway, which is not _that bad._ He swings his legs over the windowsill, the air brushes over his hips through the lacing in his pants. He’s clinging to the metal bars, and it’s a damn miracle that he’s not snapping his neck on the way down. When there’s the ground under his feet, Klaus feels like he’s climbed up Everest but like, opposite way. His hand slips into now-his-cardigan’s pocket, searching for a baggie with his last stash inside. He has to figure out what to do to get some more; after _working_ with Diego he compares himself to a sock in the washer.

And Ben is ironic enough to say —

“You should start taking money for your _seances.”_

“I’ll try this in the afterlife.”

The pill crunches between Klaus’ teeth as he waves Ben a GOODBYE.

**Author's Note:**

> imagine that leonard dies before the story begins. no apocalypse, everyone's happy  
> woohoo *sarcasm*


End file.
